Free The Wild Road by Jennifer Roberson Page B

pray, in any display of emotion I wish. Frantic? Oh yes, I may be frantic. I may be desolate. I may be naked in my despair. But you have no wife, no children. How in the Mother’s name can you even begin to comprehend what I think and feel?”
    It was a natural reaction. Rhuan opened his mouth to say that according to the customs of his people, he actually was married to the farmsteader’s wife. Then he closed it, abruptly aware that such a statement would not, in the least, bring ease.
    Davyn continued to stare at him fixedly. Rhuan saw the tautness of his face, the pallor of his flesh, the anger in his eyes. “Did you send us the wrong way?” Davyn asked in a raw tone. “In the storm. Intentionally. Did you send my family the wrong way? Those I’ve asked have said you would never do such a thing . . . but I know nothing about you. What if you had a reason for giving them up to the storm? And is it just bad fortune that I was left behind to ask such questions?”
    It had not crossed Rhuan’s mind that he might be blamed for the loss of the farmsteader’s family. For several moments he could not think of a proper answer, until at last he said, “No. No. And I will swear that to your Mother, if you wish.”
    Davyn flared, “You are not worthy of the Mother.”
    Oh, indeed: anger and hostility. Rhuan owed nothing to this Mother of Moons; she was no deity of his, but he offered because he believed it might mean something to the farmsteader. Clearly, it did not. And, strangely, it hurt to have it stated so definitively. Unworthy. He, the son of a primary. Unworthy of the Mother.
    And perhaps he was. “I attempted to send them to safety. They were my responsibility. I am a karavan guide. I do care. I do. I sent them to what I believed was safety. And you as well.” He shook his head and was reminded that as yet his hair remained unbraided. There had been no time to instruct Ilona in the intricacies. “Alisanos does what it will do, goes where it will go. I could only do what I believed was safest.”
    Davyn leaned forward as he shut a fist around the cloth doll. He raised it, displayed it. Shook it at Rhuan. “My entire family is lost.”
    Rhuan teetered on the brink of explanation. He liked, admired, and respected Audrun; her loss was indeed devastating to the man who loved her. Because he knew Audrun, he understood how much this loss hurt; understood better than Davyn believed he did. He owed the man, he felt, for Audrun’s sake, for the sake of the children lost to Alisanos; owed the absolute truth and clear, unequivocal answers to all of the farmsteader’s questions. This man was a caring, responsible father who dearly loved his wife. He was indeed devastated. Anyone possessed of compassion would wish to help this man.
    Compassionless Brodhi could withhold all information, Rhuan reflected, as the rules of the journey required, but now, here, he himself could not. Not when he looked into Davyn’s eyes and saw the naked pain, the agony of not knowing. And that pain kindled a share of its own in him. Empathy, he recognized; a purely human emotion.
    What would I do, had I lost so much? Had I lost what I most loved?
    And he realized that he could be empathic because he had lost what he most loved. When he saw Ilona, dead.
    It was time to offer whatever words, whatever explanation he could to assuage a fraction of the man’s pain. He would no longer keep secrets from him even if it was forbidden to tell him of Rhuan’s heritage, the dictates of the journey. After all, Darmuth wasn’t present to hear him. Too much divulged , Darmuth would say; and the demon would then be required to tell the primaries what Alario’s get had done.
    Could he lie to Darmuth? Could he lie during a Hearing? To do so abbrogated everything about the journey. And it put Darmuth in danger.
    Rhuan looked at the doll with its stitched-on face, button